


Romulan Bathsalts

by Lemon_lady



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bubble Bath, Data and Tasha are married, Data is a dork, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Data (Star Trek), Established Relationship, F/M, Married Couple, Shore Leave, Tasha Yar Lives, Tasha Yar has trauma, but she’s working through it, non sexual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_lady/pseuds/Lemon_lady
Summary: Her husband is obsessed with the dimples in her legs, the old halfmoon scar on her stomach, the freckles spread across her back. She finds something equally as beautiful in his golden skin, unmarred and smooth under her hands.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Romulan Bathsalts

**Author's Note:**

> The fifth (and final) fic I wrote on the plane :0

Tasha has never enjoyed shore leave. 

She remembers her first visit to Risa as an ensign for the way her crewmates had ribbed her for sitting sullenly by the pool. She’d kept her towel wrapped tightly around the barely there bikini a friend had pressured her into wearing while rest of the junior officers played water-sports with a crew of unusually friendly Ferengi, coupled up, and did whatever else _normal_ sunstarved twenty somethings get up too on their first time planetside in months. 

Deanna would say that her aversion to unstructured leisure time was a result of her childhood in the lawless wastelands of Turkana IV. Tasha didn’t completely discount that factor herself, there certainly hadn’t been much time for suntanning while avoiding rape gangs, but she preferred to attribute the majority of her discomfort to the simple fact that she was a hardworking woman, one who found very little joy in being intentionally unproductive. An occasional aikido spar with Worf was her preferred form of stress relief. It didn’t require leaving the Enterprise, and even the defeats helped improve her combat skills. 

Until very recently the enterprises synthetic second officer, and her husband, had wholeheartedly agreed. Data didn’t need to relax, and a dip in the pool wasn’t advisable when you sank straight to the bottom. It’s not as if they spent _all_ their time working. Data and Tasha, enjoyed many academic and artistic pursuits, both together and separately. When Data catalogued the fauna of the worlds they visited and Tasha read up on the war games of ancient earth’s Genghis Khan they gained knowledge that could be used to help themselves, and others. Gorging on the resort's seafood buffets while wearing the customary floral leis of Risa helped no one. Tasha preferred her meals light and high in fiber, and Data couldn’t get any more enjoyment from hibachi than he could from a slice of stale bread.

The Enterprise passed through Risa’s sector relatively often, and Commander Riker never missed a chance to sample the local women. This meant the planet was duly the most popular destination for shore leave, and the most predictable. In the past Tasha and Data had come prepared. The couple made it a point to go out for dinner with the rest of the bridge crew and Data was occasionally stolen away by Geordi on behalf of some visiting engineering student who desperately wanted to meet a Soong Android in the flesh. Barring these excursions, they spent the majority of their time sequestered away in their room enjoying pre-downloaded lectures from Starfleet Academy finest, and each other. 

Near the end of leave they usually co-sponsored a wilderness trip open to any crew members looking to brush up on survival skills. Not many people jump at the opportunity but overeager Wesley Crusher always shows up, with a rucksack twice his size. If this shore leave on Risa was like all the others she’d be miles inland by now, hacking through the underbrush with a freshly sharpened machete, holding Data’a hand while he answered Wesley’s every question with a spiel boring enough to eventually stop him from asking another. Instead she’s sitting with her knees tucked up to her chest in her hotel rooms obnoxiously large scalloped bathtub, while Data uses the replicator to amass a cross section of beauty products . 

“Can you remind me why we’re doing this again my love?” She sighs.

“Certainly.” Data smiles at her, brandishing a neon pink loofah. “My research indicates that the majority of humans enjoy an amount of pampering from their significant other. I am programmed in a broad variety of pleasuring-”

“I’m well aware of that.” Tasha smirks, cracking a smile for the first time since he’d told her his plans for the evening. 

Something bizarre and wonderful had bloomed between them because of the polywater, but an awkward few missions where Tasha had power walked in the other direction every time she’d seen him coming had followed that initial encounter. Her discomfort had nothing to do with the fact that he was an Android. She saw him as much as a sentient being as any other member of the crew, and she’d once “accidentally” broke the nose of a foolhardy ensign who’d suggested otherwise. 

She doesn’t love easily. Deanna’s professional opinion was entirely correct on this matter. Spending her formative years on a planet where the deaths of those she cared about were a foregone conclusion made relationships difficult. . Which is why it hadn’t been until after the Enterprise’s run-in with Armus that she’d resolved to pursue the romance. Tasha had been dead for almost ten minutes before waking up on the floor of the transporter room, surrounded by the terrified faces of her friends. Data had been the one to pull her to her feet and she’d slumped against him, a rare moment of vulnerability as he wiped the blood off her cheek. Tasha kissed him right then, in full view of the rest of the away team. She’d never seen Riker so shocked! Deanna had smiled indulgently when Tasha had burst into her room that evening . The empath was the only person aboard who wasn’t the least bit surprised, but the rest of their friends had come around quickly.

“Yet this activity was one my father failed to program for me.” Data barrels on, ignoring the innuendo completely. He’s straightforward, which is Tasha’s favorite quality in a man. In this situation though she’s not sure if he’s generally clueless, or if he doesn’t care to reminisce on the first time they’d been intimate.

“Probably because spas weren’t something Dr. Soong often experienced on Omicron Theta.” 

“It is correct that commercial spas fell out of favor in the middle of the 22nd century but my sources show that private bathing sessions between romantic partners are still commonplace.” 

“Sources?” 

“The most common occurrence of this phenomenon can be found in fiction traditionally aimed at middle aged women.” 

“Data!” Tasha laughs. “You’ve been reading chick lit?” 

“Hm.” He pauses for a moment, presumably analyzing the term. “I suppose I have.” He cocks his head and Tasha melts a little. Five years into their relationship, and his odd mannerisms never fail to make her smile, _or_ to remind her of how unique his view of the universe is. Data is never more himself then when he’s experiencing something new. And even if his latest interest is not something she would ever care to try on her own she takes every opportunity to indulge him. “I spoke with counselor Troi this morning.” He continues brightly. “She is eager to hear the results of this experiment at our next session.”

“Deanna would take any opportunity to get me to sit still.” Tasha rolls her eyes. They attend couples therapy on a biweekly basis. Both are self aware enough to understand that a relationship like theirs had problems in the long run. Data has an indefinite lifespan, can’t have biological children, and although Tasha is a fervent believer that her husband has emotions, their intensity and the effect they have on him are undeniably alien. Data and Tasha are seasoned starfleet officers, trained to prepare for every situation. Their marriage is no different.

“Arrange them by primary and secondary colors.” Tasha suggests. She’s been watching him for a few minutes, brow furrowed as he compares two bottles of nail polish. To her, they are identical shades of azure. But she knows Data’s evaluating undertones and consistency, debating between organizing by fluid ounce or the shape of the container or any number of other arbitrary characteristics his neural net has supplied. If she leaves him to his own devices it’s possible he’ll weigh the options for hours. The way his mind works fascinates Tasha, and she’ll let Data puzzle things out by himself most of the time. Sometimes though, like when she’s freezing her tail off in an unfilled bathtub, she makes exceptions. 

“Excellent idea.” He beams back at her. He transfers the polish to the marble countertop that surrounds the tub, where they are joined by a myriad of other products he expects to use. Tasha rests her head on the lip of the bath and watches, his hands a blur as he sorts the colors. 

“There’s got to be at least 20 colors here Data.” She points out when he’s finished. 

“There are 24 different options. Would you like me to bring more?” 

“No!” She laughs leaning in for a kiss. “You’ve outdone yourself.” Tasha tells him when they pull apart. “As per usual.” 

“It is generally agreed upon that the ideal temperature of a bath is 33.3 degree Celsius.” He twists the faucet on. “This tub does not have precise settings but I have a thermometer and with trial and error I will be able to achieve a margin of error within half a degree. 

“Just make it warm. I’m freezing in here.” 

“I will do that.” He nods turning the dial further. The tub fills, warm water washing over her legs. She sinks down into the water, watching out of the corner of her eye as Data tests the temperature anyways, adjusting the faucet an inch or so until he’s satisfied. 

_Ever the perfectionist._

She can’t recall the last time she’d had a proper bath. Tasha is used to taking quick showers on the enterprise, her duties as chief of security make that the most practical option. 

“The last person who bathed me was a starfleet nurse.” She muses aloud. 

“I was not aware you had a basis of comparison.” Data frowns. “On a scale of one to ten how would you rate the sensuality of your experience? Could you offer a brief summary of the encounter?” 

“Don’t be jealous.” Tasha teases. 

“I do not have the capacity to feel jealous.” He responds, a hint defensively. “I am only being diligent, in the event that there is something he did that you would want me to replicate tonight.” 

“My last bath was in the sickbay of the starship that rescued me from Turkana IV. Nothing _sensual_ about it. The chief medical officer hadn’t known what to make of me at first.” 

“That is not surprising.” Data nods. “Children on federation planets in the condition you arrived in are virtually unheard of.”

“And thank God for that.” Tasha whispers. “I barricaded myself in a corner of a sick bay, filthy, half feral, and clearly malnourished until this bear of a nurse made the executive decision to fix the easiest of these problems. She scrubbed me until my skin was raw. She didn’t mean to hurt me. 

“Of course not.” Data agrees. “The layers of dirt accumulated after fifteen years on a planet like yours are difficult to remove without excessive force.” 

“Next came the flea shampoo, which stung my scalp terribly.” 

“It also did not do much to get rid of the hardy subspecies native to Turkana IV.” 

“You’re right. I spread fleas halfway across the ship.” She laughs. “I spent most of my first week aboard too embarrassed to come out of my room. Dust from Turkana left the tub red rimmed, the water a muddy brown. I’d never seen something half as clean as the white enamel of the bath on Turkana. Herding a traumatized young woman into a place cleaner than she’d thought possible and immediately having her soil it made me feel...” 

“They really should have used a shower.” He says softly. She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. Data _knows_. Their conversations about Turkana IV are infrequent, but the way he treats her when she opens up is unbearably tender. “Are you upset Tasha?” He kneels next to her, tipping her chin up.

“It’s been over a decade.” She sighs. “There’s no logical reason for me to feel this much pain over a memory. I’m sorry”. 

“Although humans are not known to be especially logical there is nothing illogical in negative emotions being connected to traumatic events of your youth. There is no need for you to apologize.” He assures her “I, on the other hand, pressured you into an activity without considering that it might have uncomfortable associations.” 

“You didn’t pressure me into anything.” She protest.

“Your body language makes it clear that you do not expect to enjoy the bath.” 

“Would I rather be lying in a tent, sending Wesley on pointless errands so we could have a few moments to ourselves? Absolutely. But I’m always open to trying something new with you.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” She presses her lips to his cheek. 

“I will be gentle.” He promises her, dimming the overhead lights. 

“Oh Data. You’ve never been anything less.” 

“The candle I picked for tonight is bajoran lilac.” He sets it next to her, the soft glow of the flame illuminating his face. “The scent is not a known aphrodisiac but it is generally agreed upon to be pleasant and non-cloying. I know this is a quality you prefer when wearing perfume at a formal event.” 

“Are you going to get in with me?” Tasha wonders. 

“Eventually.” He smiles back. “You will have to be patient. First I am going to apply a hydrating toner. This will help to clear your pores and prevent blemishes. The former is more relevant as you have had only two significant breakouts during our time together. You have excellent facial hygiene Tasha.” 

“Thank you.” She laughs. Data’s compliments are as genuine as they are awkwardly phrased. The men who used to try to pick her up in 10 Forward, of which there was no shortage, were never half as original. A few months after they’d gotten together the couple had been laying in bed, Spot curled up between them. 

“There are several etymological meanings of your name.” He’d told her as he stroked her hair. “In Sanskrit meanings include Nat from Nataraj, the dancing incarnation of Shiva, a god in Hinduism. Asha means hope. There are also a number of Russian interpretations. My favorite is Arabic, where the name Natasha symbolizes strength and power. You fit the description perfectly.” 

“Is this flattery?” Tasha had yawned. 

“Simply truth Tasha. Federation immigration records to Turkana IV list your parents as renowned sociologists back on Earth. The failure rate for colonies started in far flung regions of space are abnormally high. They were strong people to risk their reputation on a community so experimental, and to start a family there. I do not think they could have known when they named you how powerful you would grow up to be.” 

Now his touch is whisper light as his hands move across her face, the toner cool against her skin as he drifts toward her decolletage. His hands hover over a bruise on her collarbone. 

“I’ve learned not to panic when you’ve got a phaser hole straight through your chest. And you still worry over a bruise.” 

“Pain will always be a foreign concept to me.“ Data explains. “But I understand enough to be sure that I will never be comfortable with reminders that you experience it.” 

“No one wants to see the someone they care for in pain.” She guides his hands back to her chest. “That’s a universal experience my love.” 

“An unpleasant one.” He frowns as he finishes applying the toner. “Epsom salts are an old earth product primarily used by athletes to relieve the aches associated with a highly active lifestyle.” Data gestures to a tinted glass jar filled with tiny green crystals. “Interestingly, a Romulan equivalent was developed around the same time. I have it here.”

“Are you endorsing Romulan superiority?” Tasha raises an eyebrow as her husband measures out bath salts. 

“In bath products? Unquestionably. There are actually several studies on the issue.”

“Oh to be a scientist idle enough to compare the quality of federation and romulan bath salts!” Tasha laughs. Data sprinkles the salts into the water. They sink with a slightly suspect fizzing sound, but she feels the tension in her muscles release almost immediately. 

“Cardassians are very particular about their skin.” Data deadpans. “Caring for it is more of a delicate process than most species, and their Empire does not balk at wasting resources on the pursuit of the best other species can provide.”

“Bajoran candles...Romulan bath salts..This is quite the multicultural bath isnt it?”

“Yes.” He nods. “And there is more to come.” 

“Oh?” Tasha smiles, scooping some of the salts into her hand. It takes her a moment to realize, but in the candlelit bathroom, they glow a soft green.

“Counselor Troi gave this to me when we spoke this morning.” Data pulls a wrapped package out 

of his shirt's front pocket and holds it aloft “The counselor says it is a “ _bath bomb_ ”. One of her personal favorites. I am going to join you now.” 

“Good.” She purrs. 

Tasha’s has a peculiar appreciation for her husband in Hawaiian shirts. His original designs are akin to a phychodelic fever dream. Today’s is blue, with purple and green kittens chasing dandelions through a Star filled sky. She watches him as he strips.

Her husband is obsessed with the dimples in her legs, the old halfmoon scar on her stomach, the freckles spread across her back. She finds something equally as beautiful in his golden skin, unmarred and smooth under her hands. 

She’d been so surprised the first time he’d embraced her, at the gentle warmth of his body pressed against hers. When he slides down into the tub with her now, she can’t imagine he could be anything else. There’s plenty of room for both of them to sit comfortably, the resort spares no expense when it comes to the rooms reserved for the Enterprise crew. Of course she prefers to sit on his lap. She stays there, curled into his chest as he drops the bathbomb in the water. The tub swirls with ribbons of gold and soft purple. 

“It’s beautiful.” She strokes his wrist. The lilac of the candles and the clean scents of the toner mix and the latex of Data’s skin. He reaches behind her for a shampoo and body bar. 

“I am glad you think so.” He whispers in her ear. 

“Can I wash you too?” Tasha asks stilling his hands at her neck.

“Of course you-” He begins, but she’s on top of him, dunking his head underwater before he can finish. When she lets him up his hair is free of its usual coiffe, sticking up at odd angles. In the moment he’s so precious she can’t stop herself from pressing her lips to his.

Data doesn’t have to breathe. Tasha stays wrapped up in him for so long sometimes she forgets that she does. 

The soap is vetiver, a perfect complement to the lilac. They face each other quietly massaging the soap into her hair. She teases his bubbles into a tower, and feels bested when he shapes hers into a delicate crown. Data takes Tasha’s hands one at a time and paints her fingernails the same cream as the loose fitting robe she’s planning to wear to dinner.

She tries to return the favor, hands shaking terribly as she attempts the same color scheme as his shirt. Roughly half of the polish lands on target but he beams at her anyways, proud of the effort irregardless of the outcome. They lay with their limbs intertwined as the water cools, wearing old earth mud masks. Later they dry each other off and relax atop the duvet in bathtowels. 

Tasha’s misgivings about shore leaves remain the same. But she is giving serious thought to reevaluating her opinion on baths. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much appreciated <3


End file.
